


Good Angels Guide Thee

by wyrmy



Series: Untitled Human AU [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Abuse, ableist abuse, as if you would expect anything else from me, being vulnerable with someone is a way of showing love damnit, can be read as asexual, nothing bad actually happens in the story itself, seriously this is very heavy, some descriptions of a really bad loaf of bread, some descriptions of ableist abuse, trans-racial adoption is lightly touched upon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmy/pseuds/wyrmy
Summary: It was fortunate that Crowley happened to be there when she called. Crowley thought of it as blind luck, though he knew that Aziraphale considered such things acts of God.or, Aziraphale receives a message he simply can't ignore.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Uriel, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Untitled Human AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079183
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Good Angels Guide Thee

**Author's Note:**

> This story makes more sense if you've read the previous one in the series, Angels Ever Bright and Fair.  
> Its a heavy pair of stories, mostly centered on recovery from ableist abuse. while nothing really bad happens to anyone during the story itself and abuse is not described in detail, this is not a happy or fluffy story and is based on the sort of things which happen to real people, so read at your own discretion.

It was fortunate that Crowley happened to be there when she called. Crowley thought of it as blind luck, though he knew that Aziraphale considered such things acts of God.

Crowley had been over on a Saturday afternoon, hanging around aimlessly, as was his wont, while Aziraphale puttered. Aziraphale didn’t get the bookshop phone when it rang because he had recently taken up bread making and he was too mentally absorbed in his (vain) attempts to produce something edible to do something as menial and important as answering the phone. It was a miracle the man stayed solvent.

“I’ll get it!” Crowley said as he hurried down the narrow staircase to the shop. Aziraphale didn’t give any sign of having heard him. 

Crowley put on his best customer-service voice when he picked up

“Fell & Co. rare books,” he said. God, it’d been years since he’d had to do that specific voice.

“Hello,” replied the woman calling. “I was hoping to speak to Mister Fell, the owner, is he available?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Fell is busy at the moment. I can take a message?”

“Tell him it’s his sister-“

“Oh it’s you.” Crowley’s voice sounded cold in his own ear. “I think he made it very clear to you last time you spoke that he doesn’t want to see or hear from you ever again. Do you have any idea how upset he was after your little visit?”

“I am sorry but it is nece-“

“Oh no you bloody don’t. You don’t get to prioritize whatever agenda you have over my partner’s mental health.”

“He’s going to want to hear this!” said the woman.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me whatever it is and I might pass along the message.”

“Tell him we’re, um, clearing out our parents’ house and we found some of his things. His favorite books from when he was a child, actually. And I can’t dispose of them without knowing how he would feel…”

Crowley sighed heavily. If there was one thing Aziraphale could be guaranteed to have an emotional connection to, it was books.

“Okay. I’ll pass that along. If you leave your number I’ll call back and let you know what his decision is about it.”

Aziraphale was in the kitchen when he went up, tutting sorrowfully over an unrisen loaf that looked about as light and airy as poured concrete.

“I knew this one wasn’t going to come out well. I could feel it in my water,” he said, then turned, frowning. “What is it my dear?”

“It was Uriel on the phone.” Aziraphale dropped the bread. “She said she has some books that belonged to you when you were a kid. She wanted to know what to do with them.”

“Oh goodness,” he said, suddenly bending over and leaning heavily on the counter. “Oh my dear. I-”

Crowley stroked his back as his breathing sped up, and then as it slowed down again.

When Aziraphale recovered, he picked up the wretched loaf of bread from the floor and binned it.

He turned with a sigh and looked at Crowley very directly. “If Uriel has got any books that belong to me, I would like to get them back. I can telephone her-” Crowley looked about to interrupt “-or you can.” He nodded to himself and then seemed to deflate. “I think I’ll take a bath now, would you be amenable to joining me?”

So Crowley sat on a chair by the tub and chatted idly to Aziraphale while he soaked away his worries.

*

The books were still at Aziraphale’s father’s house, and Uriel indicated that she didn’t want to remove them to her own place because they were heavy and because the sibling dynamics of Aziraphale’s erstwhile family were extremely fraught. The other siblings would not take kindly to Uriel removing things from the premises.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes disapprovingly when Crowley relayed that information. 

“Bloody Sandy,” he said.

Uriel had set up a date for them to come over when it was guaranteed neither of Aziraphale’s other two siblings would be present. Uriel had a key and she would be there to let them in. 

That day, Crowley drove over to the bookshop early, so that Aziraphale had time to prepare himself mentally. It turned out to be unneeded.

Aziraphale answered the door, immaculately dressed and ready to leave, looking pale with dark circles under his eyes. 

“I really don’t feel able to give directions. Is it alright if I drive us?” he said. 

Aziraphale didn’t speak for the whole drive and Crowley hardly wanted to initiate conversation, under the circumstances.

After what felt like several hours, but what probably much less, Aziraphale pulled up in front on an unassuming house on an unassuming street. 

“This is it,” he said.

Crowley covered Aziraphale’s hands with his own where they rested on the steering wheel. 

“You still want to do this? We can still go back to London.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I still want to do this.”

“Okay,” said Crowley. “You want to take a minute? Breathe a bit?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Anytime. Any time at all.”

*

The sky was grey, the house was grey, and Aziraphale’s face was grey. He buttoned his overcoat all the way up while he waited for Crowley to lock the car. It was unseasonably cold out.

“Alright, Angel. Ready to go?” Crowley held out his arm and Aziraphale hesitated before linking arms with him. Crowley petted the back of Aziraphale’s hand and Aziraphale flinched. But he didn’t let go or pull away as they made their way up to the house. Aziraphale rang the bell.

Uriel answered. Crowley felt his eyebrows rise in shock when he saw her. He had certainly not expected Aziraphale’s sister to be Black.

“Hi,” she said and extended a hand. He shook it. “My brother didn’t tell you about the fact that I’m adopted.” She smiled wryly.

“No, he didn’t.”

“I haven’t told him anything,” said Aziraphale with an emphasis and a look that were freighted with meaning. “Uriel, this is my partner Anthony, Anthony, this is my sister Uriel.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Uriel. 

“Likewise,” said Crowley.

“You’d better come in,” she said, suddenly serious.

While the yard had been unkempt and overgrown, the interior of the house was tastefully, if outmodedly, decorated. Much of the furniture looked antique, and there was plenty of decent-looking art on the walls. Aziraphale stood as if rooted to the spot in the middle of the entrance hallway. His hand on Crowley’s arm was a vise. 

“I’m not going upstairs. You’ll have to bring them down,” he said. 

“They’re in the basement, don’t worry. You won’t have to go up there. It’s all been remodelled anyway.”

Aziraphale’s head moved oddly, as he was swerving out of the way of something. 

“I didn’t need to know that,” he said.

“Oh, sorry.”

“That’s alright.”

Uriel went off down a hallway and Aziraphale followed, pulling Crowley with him. When they paused at the top of a flight of stairs, Aziraphale asked.

“Has he… died? Is that why you’re clearing everything out?”

“No, but he’s not well. He’s got dementia, so we decided to have him put in a home where people can take care of him all the time.”

“It’s better than he deserves,” spat Aziraphale abruptly.

Uriel raised her hands. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, Zira.”

Aziraphale looked mutinous for a second before the expression vanished. “No, of course. I apologize.”

Uriel didn’t say anything, she just turned and went down the stairs to the basement.

The basement was crowded with boxes and furniture, and all the other the inevitable detritus of a lifetime or two.

“Sandy wanted to throw them in the bin, and Mike wanted to donate them. But I convinced them to let you have them. If you still want them,” said Uriel as she dragged a box out of the corner and into the clear area by the base of the stairs.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to have heard a word she said. He fell to his knees and opened the box reverently.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “How could I forget all of you?” then, with shining eyes, he removed each beaten-up, dog-eared paperback from the box and gazed at it with a look of wonder. Crowley was surprised by Aziraphale’s apparent favorite childhood reading materials. He definitely recognized The Lord of the Rings among the volumes.

“He loved those books so much when we were children,” said Uriel warmly. “He used to sleep with them in his bed. Always had them in his lap when he was eating at the table with us. Took them everywhere. I felt so awful about the idea of throwing them away.” Her voice sounded a little choked. 

At length, though, he had looked lovingly at every book in the massive box and after placing them neatly back where they belonged, he hoisted the thing up in his arms. He gave Uriel a very serious look.

“Thank you so much for this. I didn’t know how much I missed them. It was very kind of you.”

“It was the least I could do. But you’re welcome.”

“Are they… are they treating you alright, in all of this?”

Uriel rolled her eyes exactly the same way Aziraphale did when he was particularly annoyed. “You know Sandy and Mike. Pair of wankers. I’m avoiding them as much as possible and after we’ve sorted all this,” she gestured around her, “hopefully I won’t have to deal with them for a long time.”

“I wish I could help you, and I hope that you look after yourself. Good luck dealing with them. And dad.”

“Thank you. You too.”

Aziraphale nodded. Then he shifted the box in his arms so that he could gesture up the stairs. 

“After you.”

The three of them went to the door and then Aziraphale and Crowley stood around awkwardly on the lawn while Uriel locked up.

“Well. I probably won’t be seeing you again,” said Aziraphale. “When he dies, I won’t go to the funeral.”

“Will you come to my funeral, though?” said Uriel with a smile.

“I think the better question is, will you come to mine? You may, if you like. So long as you don’t bring any family members.” Aziraphale smiled back.

“I wouldn’t, trust me.” She paused and swallowed. “May we meet on a better occasion, Aziraphale.”

“Mind how you go, Uriel. Good bye, now.” he put the box very carefully into the boot of the Bentley and got into the driver’s seat. He pulled away and didn’t look back.

“I could really murder some fish and chips,” he said in a flat voice once he had been driving for about five minutes. “There used to be a good chippie ‘round here somewhere. There we are.” He pulled over.

He had that horrible empty look in his eyes as he ate, hunched over on a damp bench under the blank grey sky.

“You okay, Angel?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shrugged stiffly. “No,” he said.” I’m probably going to have a bit of a breakdown when we get home.”

Crowley wanted to put his arm around him. “You want me to drive?” he said instead.

Aziraphale shook his head, although his eyes remained locked on one point in the middle distance. “It keeps me grounded,” he said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I will, soon.”

*

Aziraphale was a good driver and Crowley trusted him with the Bentley. The countryside was a blur outside the windows and Crowley was feeling rather sleepy when Aziraphale spoke again.

“It’s the oddest feeling. It’s as if I’d been seriously ill and years later became reacquainted with the doctor who saved my life. I’m so very grateful to them, but at the same time I feel like I’m dying again.”

“Who saved your life?” Crowley was still half-asleep.

“My books, dear. I suppose that wasn’t a very apt metaphor.”

Crowley couldn’t think of anything to say to that. There was a long and awkward pause.

“You didn’t seem to want to see Uriel again,” he said. 

“Do you disapprove?” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet and steady. His jaw was squarer than Crowley had ever seen it.

“Not at all. It’s your own business if you want to spend time with your sister. I just wanted to know what I should say if she ever calls again.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed and he breathed out long and slow. “Of course you did. You’re a very kind person, you know. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

“Under the circumstances.”

“You should tell her,” Aziraphale said after a little while, “that I don’t want to see her. I’m sure she knows already. She understands.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. The clouds burst and a heavy rain began to fall on the roof and windshield of the car. The cascading water left twisting shadows on Aziraphale’s face.

“I’ve told this to only one other person,” said Aziraphale, “and I was very drunk at the time. Even Gabriel didn’t entirely know what I’m about to tell you, and we were together for seven years.” He paused, thinking. 

“Um. I was diagnosed with… autism at an early age.” He sighed. “My parents were very keen on the idea of curing it. Curing me. The prevailing wisdom was, and is, that you need to teach the child to seem as normal as possible. A lot of it was about eliminating visible behaviours or displays of unwanted emotions. Getting me to tolerate things I didn’t like.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “I’ll spare you the details. But I went to therapist frequently, and outside of therapy I was still expected to behave normally or there were consequences. If I- moved oddly, or made a noise- did you know I used to sing when I was young? I could sing before I could talk- then they would punish me for it. They enlisted my siblings to report on my behaviours, to discipline me, to administer certain… “Therapies”. Everyone pitched in to turn Alex into a real person.”

“Oh my god, Angel. I’m so sorry.”

“Uriel’s not evil. And I can’t imagine being a black person in my family was very easy, either. She did what she was told, like any frightened child would. She’s only six months older than I am.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Neither do I. I just thought you should know.”

Crowley petted Aziraphale’s knee lightly. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“I don’t remember my childhood very clearly. I don’t remember the specific events. I remember spending all my time watching my siblings having normal lives, or the closest equivalent, while I had only my books. Then I couldn’t take them all with me to university. Now I have them back. She remembered how much I loved them. She didn’t think it was wrong to be so attached.”

*

Aziraphale collapsed once he was back at the bookshop like he had predicted. Crowley held him and made him some cocoa, let him cry, helped him remember how to breathe afterwards.

Crowley took him to bed, helped him off with his shirt and trousers, held him again as they lay there together in their underwear, called him angel.

“I’m sorry for making you take care of me like this. I should be stronger.”

“Don’t mention it, love.”

“I don’t like to cause people trouble. Don’t want to put you out.”

“Maybe I like looking after other people. Maybe it makes me feel useful. Every think of that, angel? If you were any different, you might be depriving me of purpose.”

“I’d like to think you have a nobler purpose in life than being my nurse.”

“No nobler purpose than to love you.”

“And to be loved, darling. Don’t forget that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. if you consider my story to be offensive I am happy to talk to you about it and to consider making changes etc.   
> If you didn't find it offensive, I love positive comments too!


End file.
